Good Riddance: Lost Childhoods, Found Pictures

Lessons from Beyoncé, newsletter cross-pollination with Elizabeth Gilbert, and an exciting guest for The Short and Sweet.

Me squealing with joy on a rocking horse in my parents’ living room, circa 1987.

This past week I saw the one and only Beyoncé perform at her record-breaking Cowboy Carter tour. It was a transformative experience—a show of such skill and artistry that I have not stopped thinking about it since and doubt I will anytime soon. The nearly three-hour show is unapologetically feminist, passionately political in the most personal and existential ways, and, in my opinion, a work of genius. I try not to throw this word around carelessly, but I believe it is true of both Beyoncé and the Cowboy Carter Tour itself.

Part of what makes the show so powerful is the journey it takes you on: the music, the choreography, the costumes, yes. But also the visuals: two massive screens as tall as buildings flank the stage playing photo montages and short films, like a concert and movie premiere all rolled up into one. These cinematic interludes between longer sets allow Beyoncé and her dancers time to get ready for the next portion of the show, including drying off. (Did I mention she performed in the rain for the entire three hours?) These set breaks have their practical purpose, but they also act as a reminder to the audience (and perhaps to Beyoncé and her two daughters who appear on stage with her) of where she came from, how long she’s been honing this magnificent craft of hers, and what she’s had to go through to get right here, on that stage in front of us.

During one particularly impactful moment, the screens projected videos of Beyoncé through her decades of performing, intercut with archival footage of fellow ground-breaking Black musicians whose incomprehensible contribution to country music is often overlooked, if not intentionally erased. As the video continued, these joyful and tender clips were starkly contrasted with sexist and racist clips of people across a range of news and media outlets saying vile things about Beyoncé, undermining her integrity, hard work, and immense talent. One clip even showed a country singer comparing her to a dog during a televised interview.

A montage later in the concert would show even more photos and videos of Beyoncé: first as a baby girl, then in her toddler years and childhood, then through the wild intensity of her life in the public eye when she was just a teenager. The footage of a young girl filled with innocent enthusiasm and excitement for singing and dancing juxtaposed with the cruel clips of her worst critics was a powerful reminder of what child performers, especially women, have to give up in order to pursue their dreams. These moments resonated deeply with me as I watched this child version of Beyoncé on screen, knowing all that she would face as she got older.

Watching this moment in the show got me thinking about the piece I had the honor of writing last week for

Elizabeth Gilbert

’s fantastic newsletter, Letters From Love, in which she asks guests to respond to the question “Dear love, what would you have me know today?” I wrote my response letter in the form of a poem; a dual ode to the young child actresses in my book Dark Sparkler, which just celebrated its tenth anniversary, and to a picture of me at four years old, before I would become a child performer myself; a picture that was not unlike the ones Beyoncé shared of herself on those massive screens at her show.

If you’re new to our newsletter—welcome!—every Saturday we host a series here called Good Riddance where you can join me in letting go of something that needs releasing from your life. This week, I’m letting go of that lost part of my childhood that was given up to become a public performer. I’m saying a big heartfelt good riddance to that innocence lost, those years I spent going to sets instead of after-school birthday parties.

To honor this let go, our child selves, and of course Ms. Beyoncé Knowles-Carter herself, I’m re-sharing (or rather, “cross-pollinating” as Elizabeth Gilbert puts it, which I love) the poem I wrote for her newsletter, which you can read below.

As always, thank you for being here, and do tell me what your Good Riddance is for this week down in the comments. I’ll be there waiting for you with open arms.

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DEAR LOVE, WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME KNOW TODAY?

It was that picture of you I found as a rodeo girl
flinging your four-year-old body back and forth in euphoria
on a metal rocking horse in your parents’ living room
that Evan made me carry around in my wallet for years; A reminder

that love was in the details
of who we’ve always been, how you and I have always ridden.
Love was in the details
of all we’ve been through together,
and who we are to one another: each other.
You, the child I once was;
me, the adult you would become.

Little love, you came out of our mother’s womb with a bucking heart,
the kind spooked steeds and sparked poets sometimes know how to tame.
In the picture, your mouth plumes open with elation
as you raced toward everywhere, riding into electric,
your small hands like a power grid lighting up
an entire imagination.

But the world loves to tell the youngness in us
that playtime must come to an end.
And just a few years after this picture was captured,
so too was your childhood.
All your indoor tricks became an outside trade;
the talent in your back and forth bones
recognized and reduced to tallow: Actress
you were branded young, a burn
that still scars.

The animal, the mustang in you, was reined in,
your feral petals plucked for a circus
you were too young to know how to escape from.
You gave your radiance to the spotlight,
traded in your spurs for the spikes of high heels,
and laid down your lasso to learn the ropes
of how to stay as thin as a ghost’s shadow.

But today, little love,

I want you to know that even after all these years
out of the saddle, playing characters that could never
compare to the real you,

I’ve come to say I have not forgotten you;
you’re the blood that still pumps through our aging heart,
the stampede that bolts my endless devotion,
the tiny fingers I will never let go of.
And you are safe, inside of me, for I was built to hold you,
and all you’ve been through, my little love —
my first love.

First love, here’s what I’d have you know today:
it was that picture of you — of us — as a rodeo girl
flinging our four-year-old body back and forth with euphoria
on a metal rocking horse in our parents’ living room
that no one makes me still carry around
but I do anyway.

And each time I see it,
the stable doors burst open; I remember you.
How we set each other free.

June’s The Short and Sweet, Saturday, June 14 at 1pm ET: Our June Zoom hangout for paid subscribers will feature a special guest: author, editor, and ghost-writer-extraordinaire, Ada Calhoun. Ada will be joining us to answer your questions and discuss how creating and editing work for yourself differs from ghost writing and editing for others. If you’re working on a creative project of any kind, you won't want to miss this one. The Short and Sweet will take place Saturday, June 14th from 1pm-2pm ET. The Zoom link will be emailed to paid subscribers about thirty minutes before the start of the Zoom.